


Inception Bingo 2017 ficlets

by bauble



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-12 17:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11741907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/pseuds/bauble
Summary: Ficlets written for 2017 round of Inception Bingo prompts.





	1. The Drawbacks of Whimsy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Sex outdoors

"It'll be whimsical," Arthur says.

"Whimsical," Eames repeats. "Since when have either of us been whimsical?"

"I have whims. Caprices. Flights of fancy, if you will," Arthur says. At Eames' skeptical expression, Arthur tries a different tack. "It'll be sexy. You'll get to wear that tiny green Speedo I love. The one that brings out your eyes."

Eames snorts, but Arthur feels the resistance melting. "Oh yes. I'm sure it's my eyes you're looking at."

"It'll be fun," Arthur sing songs as he wraps his arms around Eames. "You like fun, don't you?"

"No," Eames says, but Arthur knows he's won.

* * * * * 

The plan was simple: find an empty corner of the beach, peel down each others' respective swimsuits, and engage in some extremely fun and sexy and whimsical blowjobs. The outdoor setting would play to Eames' exhibitionism, the possibility of getting caught would add an adrenaline rush, and all would be well.

They select a beautiful beach with glittering blue waters, not overrun with people. Is strangely deserted, in fact. 

The reason for this becomes clear the moment they step foot onto it.

"Ow," Eames says as he gingerly hops across the sand, which is gusting up in thirty miles an hour wind, slamming into their bare legs like tiny bullets. "I feel as though I'm being attacked by a beach which doesn't want us here."

"It's not so bad," Arthur lies as as a handful of sand flies up his nose. "I'm sure it'll calm down closer to the water."

Being closer to the water proves less than ideal. The waves reach alarming heights, and the gale-force winds rushing off the surface buffet their faces with a mix of water and salty grit, rendering it difficult to see.

"I feel like my skin is being sandpapered off," Eames shouts over the howling wind.

Arthur eyes what looks like a miniature tornado forming over the ocean and gestures in the opposite direction. "It's exfoliating."

"I don't think my dick currently needs exfoliating," Eames says as they set up camp further inland, safely on dry sand again.

"My mouth's gonna feel extra great on it after the exfoliation," Arthur says as he helps Eames out of his swimsuit. 

"I appreciate the effort--" Eames cuts off with a high pitched yip, hands flying down to cover the head of his exposed penis. "Bloody fucking hell! A pebble just flew up--that's it. I'm done. There will be no blowjobs on the beach this day."

"But--" Arthur chokes when more sand flies into his open mouth. It's a testament to how miserable Eames is that he doesn't even bother to listen to Arthur's concession speech; he's already trudged half-way back to the car before Arthur's finished coughing.


	2. Arg!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: pirates, face fucking, restraints, knifeplay, loss of control

"Pirates," Eames says.

"The ruffled blouses and eyepatch kind or the impoverished former fishermen trying to scrape together enough to survive after industrial dumping of toxic waste destroyed their livelihoods?" Arthur asks.

Eames pauses to contemplate. "The eyepatch kind. I've always wanted a parrot to perch on my shoulder."

"They're heavy, their claws hurt, and they shit everywhere."

"I enjoy your playful additions to my fantasies," Eames says. "Would you also like to tell me that the phrase 'walking the plank' is historically inaccurate?"

"While used occasionally by pirates, the practice was employed more frequently by mutineers and slavers as a form of--"

"How about this," Eames interrupts. "You attack a ship and take me captive. After throwing me in the brig, you tell me the only fresh water I'll receive will come through sucking your dick. And yes, I'm fully aware that semen is not a particularly good source of hydration but I'll be so desperate I'll do it."

"Isn't it dangerous to trust a desperate, dehydrated prisoner with my cock?" Arthur sounds doubtful. "You could bite it off."

"I'm not going to--" Eames stops and takes a deep breath. "I promise that during the course of our elaborate PASIV roleplay, I will in no way attempt to violently remove your manhood."

"Alright," Arthur says, at last. "I can recreate a nineteenth century Spanish schooner, but I can't promise that the knots used in the rigging will be correct. I've only seen paintings of--"

"I'm certain whatever knots you use will be fine," Eames says. "And if you could tie me up, threaten to slit my throat--but not actually slit my throat--before fucking my face, that would be lovely, thank you."

Arthur considers this for a moment before his arm snaps forward and he grabs Eames by the hair, jerking his head back. "Good? Or slower?"

Eames blinks, a touch dizzy as all the blood rushes straight to his cock. This was what made all the negotiations and explanations worthwhile. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."


	3. Something wicked this way comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Aristocracy AU, Fish out of water, Reversal of roles/fortune

"Your consent is not required," is the attendant's dry, and entirely unfeeling reply.

Eames draws himself up to his full height. "I am the son of Lord Eames, brother to the Queen, and--"

"He is the son of the Empress, 11th in the line of succession," the attendant replies. She makes a small bow. "Though your royal blood is undeniable, his--"

"Trumps mine. Ugh, why must gruesome wars end and be sealed with treaty marriages?" An idea occurs to Eames. "Does he have the power to stop this wedding from going forward? Perhaps I could have presented my bad side to the painter and discouraged his interest." He chuckles. "But I jest. Of course I have no bad side."

Eames had been forced to stand in awkward, stiff-necked attire for weeks as a painter completed a full-length portrait that had been shipped off to parts unknown. To add insult to injury, he heard not a peep in reply to said painting--not a whisper about the unnameable aspect of his eyes, nor a murmur about his lips, which have moved women to weeping sonnets on more than one occasion. 

"I believe he has the power to approve or reject you as a match, but not the power to stop a marriage completely," she says. "Apparently, he found your visage adequate."

"Adequate?" Eames respects, aghast. "As though I am some commoner to be sold at market? I am--"

"I am certain his praise was far more effusive than adequate, and it is simply a matter of it not reaching my unworthy ears," the attendant says, bowing again more deeply.

"Yes, I'm certain that must be the case," Eames says, mollified. "What do they say he is like?"

"Rather clever."

"So he looks like a troll," Eames translates.

"He dresses splendidly--"

"Who belongs under a bridge."

"--and has a genial personality."

"A prince so hideous he can frighten passersby into giving him a toll under said bridge." Eames sighs and flings himself onto a chaise lounge, reaching for a freshly made bon bon with which to comfort himself. "That must be why he is not married yet, despite being in his twenty-first year. I am to marry a withered old troll whose vision is so poor he can never appreciate my world-renowned beauty and live a life of cruel, tragic irony."

"Yes, your existence is indeed a tragic irony," the attendant murmurs, bowing once more.

"At least you understand my plight." Eames waves at the bon bons. "Take these away. They taste stale. You know I can't stand chocolate that's more than a few hours old."

* * * * *

The actual wedding is a thankfully short affair. Not that Eames can see any of it, as he is forced to wear a ridiculous veil in order to be 'presented' to his future husband. He spends the hour being shuffled around from spot to spot like cattle as delegates from the two countries drone on about peace, love, and everlasting prosperity. 

Eames is eventually prodded into his final position for the wedding, across from the vague outline of a man. He girds himself for a truly unfortunate visage accompanied by dreadful halitosis as his veil is lifted.

And blinks in confusion at the handsome, dark haired man standing before him.

"Prince Arthur, may I present to you your bri--er, bright husband. May the joy you share shine brightly on us all." the officiant says, narrowly avoiding a diplomatic scandal that could set two nations aflame in war again.

"It's very nice to meet you, Eames," Arthur murmurs voice deep and utterly gorgeous. Not a trace of halitosis, either. "I have some big plans for us."

Eames begins to smile. "It is indeed."

The kiss isn't terribly good--noses bumping, teeth clinking--but it feels like the beginning of something wicked.

fin


	4. The Pit of Vipers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to previous Bingo ficlet 'Something wicked this way comes'  
> Prompts: Undercover, Voyeurism, Multiple orgasms, public displays of affection
> 
> This is a dark one and a choose not to warn space.

Eames is surprisingly useful around court.

Now, there's no denying that he's shallow, petty, vain, and the--bar none--laziest person Arthur has ever met. He's also selfish, unreliable, given to a nearly pathological amount of lying, and will spread his legs for anyone who gives him a second glance and tells him he's pretty. Arthur can't count the number of closets he's found Eames in _sans_ trousers, which had been rather exasperating, because one of the first things Arthur had emphasized in the course of their marriage was discretion.

Over time, Arthur came to realize that Eames is constitutionally incapable of anything resembling discretion except when it suited him, and most of Arthur's aims do not, in fact, suit him. It's not that he is against them--no, he enthusiastically supports nearly all of them, especially the sexual ones--it's just that they don't matter because they aren't his explicit whims. And so, Arthur had to find a way to use Eames' dramatic, attention-seeking nature to his advantage. Because to do anything else would surely drive them both to madness.

Thus, Eames has become the finest, most devilishly alluring distraction to light up the Empress' court. Ladies fawn over him. Lords jostle for his favor (and the chance to put their cock between his lips, cheeks, or thighs--anywhere will do). All the while, Arthur plays the patient, long-suffering husband, hopelessly outmatched by his dazzling foreign companion, utterly helpless and nonthreatening. The perfect cover.

Most of his siblings are not so easily fooled by this deception. The ones who managed to survive to adulthood did it only with extreme paranoia and vigilance (or, in Gregoir's case, a bizarre combination of blinding stupidity and freakish luck). Several have been taken in, a few others are themselves charmed by Eames--not without good reason. He is a stunning creature, charismatic, and ruthlessly alive. As far as Arthur knows, Eames has not slept with any of his siblings yet. He expects that to change within the next year or two.

Best of all, Eames has ensnared the most important target: the Empress.

Arthur is under no delusions that he is her favorite child. He would barely rank himself within her top five favorite sons, excluding the ones who died already. But after marrying Eames, Arthur found himself rising in her esteem by sheer proximity to his delightful peacock, and that has afforded advantages Arthur's never before been privy to.

The ability to fuck her prize horse-trainer, for example. Incredible, creamy white thighs and hair the perfect length for pulling as Arthur plows his ass.

"Oh, my prince," the trainer--Ian? Iam?--moans with every thrust. It's a bit excessive in Arthur's opinion, but he supposes erring on the side of overenthusiastic rather than under is a wise choice when dealing the royal family.

Arthur checks the clock. Eames is late--as always--which means he will have to continuing fucking Iam for longer than expected. At the rate they're going, Iam may come before Arthur does, which is irritating.

There's a sound outside the room. Arthur deliberately puts his head down, jerking Iam into a position where he can see the door opening but Arthur can't. Iam moans and then chokes at who he sees, freezing up as he tries to decide whether to try to stop Arthur or suffer the wrath of a prince's consort. Arthur sighs in pleasure; fear always makes commoners tight like nothing else.

Arthur comes inside Iam as he's trying to decide and rolls off. "Go to him," he commands with a distracted wave at Eames. "He requires your services now."

"You came ten seconds after I entered the room." Even with his eyes closed, Arthur can feel Eames pouting. "That was hardly a show at all."

"If you wanted a longer show, you should have turned up at the appointed time and not twenty minutes late," Arthur replies. He slaps Iam's quivering flank. "Go on. Get over there."

"But I'm not even hard yet," Eames whines as the thirty-thousand pounds of jewelry he insists on wearing clinks around his neck and wrists. "Arthur!"

Arthur groans and sits up. "Fine. You, come here. Yes, back here."

Iam, who had been trying to find his clothing on the floor, glances at the open door.

"Eames, close the door," Arthur says impatiently. "Really. Do you want my mother wandering in here one of these days?"

Eames cross his arms. He looks beautiful sulking, naturally. "Would you object?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I am not the one who wishes to fuck mother, that particular quirk lies solely with Leanthus. A side effect of that ridiculous name, if you ask me," Arthur says. "Unless you find the prospect of a shrieking harridan critiquing your face while you orgasm particularly erotic, the door should stay shut for all our future endeavors."

A horrified hand flies up to Eames cheek. "My orgasmic face is--"

"The most gorgeous in all the land," Arthur lies soothingly. Eames, in fact, tends to look like he's expelling a large bowel movement. Admittedly, it's still rather handsome on him, though not the best Arthur's ever seen. "You, Iam. Return to my bed at once."

Iam whispers something as he approaches, clothes bunched over his crotch in a pathetic imitation of modesty.

"What?" Arthur demands.

"Leonard, sir." At Arthur's blank stare, Iam elaborates. "My name. Is Leonard, your excellence."

"Oh." Arthur sits back. "Well, that's not a very sexy name."

"I apologize for--for my mother's lack of foresight in--"

"Arthur." Eames has collapsed into divan--he is always throwing himself dramatically onto some piece of furniture or another--and drawn out his soft dick. "I'm waiting."

"You there, come suck me," Arthur says. "And there's no need to be so frightened. Eames isn't angry at you for being here. He's rather pleased, actually. Your being here means he needs to do less work."

"Your cock is so large it makes my jaw hurt," Eames says, with a bat of his eyes that is likely meant to be endearing.

Arthur snorts as Iam begins to to lick gently. "That's not what you said about the cook."

"I'll have you know his cock has never been anywhere near my mouth," Eames declares. "Ian--Menard--whatever your name is, do be a dear and hurry up, will you? I've been waiting quite a while for some excitement."

"Iam here has agreed to grant us access to mother's stable. Where Rochelle keeps her horses," Arthur says casually, with a meaningful look over Iam's head at Eames.

Iam pulls off Arthur's cock with a pop. "Sire, I didn't--"

"You have a task, now we expect you to perform it." Arthur pushes Iam's head down and sighs with pleasure once he resumes his rather excellent cocksucking. "And as you know, my dear sister Rochelle does love to ride alone on weekends with her paramours."

Eames is stroking his own cock now, watching with avid interest. "Perhaps we should pay the stables a visit--just the two of us. You know how I enjoy sex in novel environs."

 _And I enjoy my siblings coming to tragic, seemingly accidental ends untraceable to me_ , Arthur thinks but doesn't say. Of course he doesn't need to, because on the anniversary of their charade of a wedding, Arthur tied Eames to the bedposts with that ridiculous veil and fucked him till he was keening. Whispered, "I will become the next Emperor if I have to kill each and every member of my family to do it." Listened to Eames moan, "Gods, yes," and come without a hand on him.

Arthur takes a breath as Iam's wet mouth works him expertly. "I'm close."

"Good. I want to see." Eames climbs off the divan and sinks to the floor behind Iam. There's a small hiccup in rhythm when Eames pushes inside Iam. But it's not too disruptive, so Arthur decides not to reprimand Iam for it. "Keep going, you. Don't you see how close his majesty is?"

Iam forges onward and Arthur climaxes for a second blissful time. Arthur falls back onto the mattress and watches through sleepy eyes as Eames fucks himself to completion inside Iam. Perhaps Iam comes, too; he's certainly squealing loudly enough for it.

Once Eames is finished, Arthur flicks his wrist. "Leave."

Iam scrambles to his feet and grabs his clothing. "T-thank you, your majesties. I--"

"I don't care. Go." Arthur holds out an arm for Eames, who curls into it unhesitatingly. "You were magnificent."

"Thank you." Eames preens, still as easy to manipulate as the day they wed. "An enjoyable piece of ass, but aren't you worried that when Rochelle dies everyone will think we're behind it?"

"No, because he's going to run off to tell mother dearest, which means it will make its way to Gregoir, which means that tomorrow everyone in court will know that the horses are at risk of being tampered with. Which means Rochelle will skip her weekend rides and foil the plans Genevive has been setting down for months." Arthur exhales in deep satisfaction. "Genevive is going to be furious."

"Genevive, hm?" Eames runs a finger across Arthur's chest speculatively. "The pretty one with the ample--"

"Don't bother. Many have tried, all have failed. She only has sex with Rodrigo."

"Your uncle?" Eames shakes his head. "What a waste of a lovely young body."

"If you're interested in one of my sisters, you can try Angelique. I've heard some unnerving rumors about her interest in corpses, but perhaps she spread them in order to ward off would be suitors." Arthur shrugs. "Or, if you don't mind corpses, I suppose."

"You have too many siblings with too many disturbing and potentially fatal quirks." Eames burrows closer. "It's a good thing the future emperor chose me." 

Arthur's cock twitches. "Say that again."

"Future emperor." Eames murmurs as Arthur climbs on top of him. "My lord and liege, Emperor Arthur the Magnificent."

Arthur leans down to capture those sulky, sultry lips in a kiss. Yes, Eames is most useful to have around court. He is also, Arthur thinks, rather enjoyable to have around the bedroom as well.

fin


	5. The deepest ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Intercrural sex, Unrequited love, Vulnerability 
> 
> And that makes bingo blackout! Woo!

It's strange, working a job with someone you once dated. Arthur advises Ariadne never to do it--date someone at work, or work with someone after you dated--and doesn't mention it comes from hard won experience.

Eames is, of course, the same as he's always been: brilliant, creative, infuriating. Inscrutable when he wants to be, easy to read when he wants you to take the bait. The inception job is so unsettling, so full of unknowns and variables Arthur can't account for, that Eames' presence--however complicated the circumstances--is almost reassuring. Something familiar in the midst of a wildly ambitious idea Arthur isn't even sure can be done. 

And naturally, Eames devises the one way to do it.

_Hurrah, we're still alive and sane!_ sex sounds like a wonderful idea all the way from the plane to the hotel room. It even looks good when Eames strips off his clothes--and god, does it ever look good. It feels fucking amazing when Arthur sucks Eames off and ends up frotting between the tight vee of Eames' muscular thighs, kissing him like he's wanted to for weeks, months, over a year if he's being honest with himself. It feels amazing to come on top of Eames again, to smell the hint of clove in his hair, to hear him laugh, to hold him in his arms.

Arthur feels a wave of tenderness wash over him as he kisses Eames. He knows why they ended before, knows things haven't changed and yet--

"I've missed you," Arthur whispers, breaking the kiss to look at Eames. To force himself to not look away.

Eames' changeable grey eyes are kind, but wary. "Darling--"

"Have you thought about what it'd be like? If we were to try again?" Arthur swallows around the terror in his throat. "Because I have. A lot."

Eames sits up. "Arthur."

"I know it's been over a year. But I miss you. I--" Arthur nearly chokes. "I love you. Still."

Eames looks away and scrubs a hand over his face. Arthur's heart begins to sink. "You don't know how flattered I am. Truly."

"Flattered," Arthur echoes, dully.

"You know I'll always care about you, Arthur. But I don't feel that way about you anymore. I'm sorry if this--this reunion gave you the wrong idea. I didn't mean to mislead you or make you think we were..." Eames climbs off the bed and begins to gather his clothes. "I'm sorry."

" _Hurrah, we're alive sex,_ " Arthur says, blinking furiously against the burning behind his eyes. "Nothing more. Got it."

"I hope we can be friends after all this, or at least cordial colleagues on future jobs." Eames sits on a chair and begins to put on his clothes. "You are so very good at what you do--the best, in fact. But I'd understand if you didn't feel comfortable or didn't want--"

"No, of course we can still--don't be ridiculous, I'm not--" Arthur stumbles towards the bathroom, wondering if he'll make it before there's snot running down his nose, tears soaking his face. "I need to use--"

Arthur slams the bathroom door and sinks to the floor behind it. _At least now I know_ , he thinks. _At least I don't have to wonder any more about what if._

He suspects that'll be cold comfort for a while yet.


End file.
